Wisps of futures evaporating,
age stealing the endless time,
this very place unbecoming,
as I consider mine.
And, as it has always been,
I am surprised to be here now
where my lessening
is the result of time.
Should I swim and struggle
so near the drain,
and try to deny the truth
and invite the pain?
Or should I
embrace the coming moment
when all that I was
will have no name?
There’s a truth here
that folds into itself
and hears its own sigh.
A truth that stands breathless
beneath an endless sky
and feels the fading
of an unbelieving I.
gallagher
11 Aug 22
Christchurch